


If You Love Something (Pee On It)

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dom/sub, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Urine, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, what with the hot water running over him, Eames didn’t notice until he realized Arthur’s hands were no longer in his hair and he was tilting his head back, eyes closing. He looked down to realize Arthur was in fact pissing on his ankle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Love Something (Pee On It)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) Round 5 for the square _wildcard [watersports]_. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno). Also written for the following inception_kink [prompt](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17669.html?thread=37925893#t37925893): "Eames likes it when Arthur gets territorial and doesn't realize just HOW much he likes it until Arthur pisses on his leg to mark his territory." Title credit goes to Liz.

Eames awoke to a flurry of curses.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. The alarm didn’t go off. Fucking--” Arthur sat up, flinging off the covers. “Come on, Eames. Shit, we’ve got twenty minutes. Fuck.”

Eames sat up more slowly. Last night, they’d gone to bed in the wee hours, exhausted and dirty from tailing a mark after having a fair amount to drink at a party where Eames in particular was required to turn on the charm, and flirt. The night ended up including running through brambles and getting a bit muddy, and their washing-off had been perfunctory. But today they’d have to look totally presentable. No stumbling in unshaven and unshowered.

“Get up, Eames.” Arthur was brisk. “We’ll shower together, come on.”

Well, that was a brightening prospect, even if they only had twenty minutes. Nineteen, now.

It was a tight fit in the hotel shower, the hot water stinging down on them. Arthur, naturally, wasted no time in discussing their agenda for the day, even as he was lathering Eames up. They hadn’t any time for funny business, Arthur made clear when Eames tried to press him against the tiles and kiss him. Eames sighed in disappointment, mildly soothed when Arthur started to wash his hair.

“I hate to say it but you’re gonna have to turn up the teasing tonight,” Arthur said, voice tight. Eames looked at him in surprise. “With the mark,” Arthur clarified, sarcastic. Eames scoffed.

“Arthur, I’m well aware.”

“It just bugs me sometimes.”

“What does, love?” Eames rinsed the suds from his hair.

“When people flirt with you.” Arthur might not voice his personal feelings often, but when he did, he could be as artlessly blunt as a teenager.

“It’s only a job, Arthur. And it doesn’t happen that often.” Eames had the impression at times that Arthur thought he was fending them off left and right. It was oddly flattering. Eames could hold his own but he was hardly deluged with attentions.

“I know, but... fuck, okay. We’re running out of time, I gotta piss.”

At first, what with the hot water running over him, Eames didn’t notice until he realized Arthur’s hands were no longer in his hair and he was tilting his head back, eyes closing. He looked down to realize Arthur was in fact pissing on his ankle. The only thing more startling than that realization was the sudden bolt of lust that ran through him.

Arthur must have seen his astonishment, because he said, tone a bit too challenging as he met Eames’ gaze unflinchingly, “What? I had to piss.”

\-------

Eames couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He usually felt a low-level buzz of arousal around Arthur as it was, had since they’d met, but there was something different in it now. They were casual -- they slept together when they had the opportunity, and it was good, all right, Christ, it was amazing, but neither of them had breathed a word about exclusivity or really anything along those lines. Eames was rarely one to prioritize such things. So he was interested to find himself returning to the image of Arthur pissing on his leg, like a dog marking his territory, and that hot challenge in his dark eyes. Combined with what he’d said about being bothered when people flirted with Eames.

Well. Things had a way of being surprising.

\-------

That night, at another party, Eames was dressed to the nines, cologned and beringed, and flirting with everyone in sight.

Generally speaking, Eames preferred to keep to himself. He wasn’t one for being unnecessarily social. That said, it wasn’t because he couldn’t be. He was skilled at charming people if he did say so himself; it was just that he usually didn’t bother.

Tonight, though, he was bothering, and he was making sure Arthur could see.

Arthur sat in a booth, nursing a whiskey alternated with a glass of water, keeping conversation going with the mark’s friends. But he kept his attention on Eames.

Every time he looked over, there was Arthur, glaring at him, but biting out asides to whomever he was talking with. Each time, Eames smiled at him, maybe winked, seamlessly returned to talking to whatever pretty young thing or good-looking older person he was currently discussing inanities with, who would invariably swoon over his accent, touch his arm, whisper smiling in his ear. But Christ, everyone here combined wasn’t half as interesting as Arthur.

Hours after they’d arrived, Arthur gestured to him, their signal to leave. He stood, and Eames, excusing himself, followed him out. Arthur’s back was ramrod straight as always, but the set of his shoulders was stiff, his jaw tense.

The sidewalk wasn’t particularly busy at this hour, traversed primarily by small groups of drunken partygoers who paid them little mind. Arthur stopped under a streetlight and turned to Eames, cheeks tinged with pink and eyes black. Was that a hint of amusement in his eyes?

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Arthur said, voice dark and smoky.

Eames blinked, heart leaping in his chest. “I’d never underestimate you, love.”

Arthur continued, voice lower, “I’ve got half a mind to piss on you here in the street, all over those fucking Tom Ford trousers.” He stepped closer, caging Eames in, drawing himself up taller as he kept Eames’ gaze. He moved a hand to the front of said trousers, grinned as Eames inhaled as his fingers easily found him. “You want me to,” he said.

Eames swallowed, but didn’t look away.

“I think we need to get back to the room before I get arrested for public urination,” Arthur murmured, smirking, pivoting with ease, hands in his pockets and Eames following.

\-------

Eames knew well that everyone had things that pushed their buttons, turned them on in ways they couldn’t articulate or even always understand. For all the intellectual awareness he might have had of the concept, however, he wasn’t able to stop his hands from shaking slightly with eagerness as Arthur closed the hotel room door behind them, and locked it. He put them in his pockets instead.

“I drank a lot tonight, Eames,” Arthur said. “I really have to piss.”

“Do you,” Eames said, attempting light and failing somewhat.

Arthur laughed. “You’re so eager for it. Fuck, I could have marched over to you on the dance floor, shoved you to your knees and pissed all over you in front of all those people and you’d have begged me for all of it.”

It wasn’t easy to make Eames blush, but he felt his face getting hot. “Arthur, if only I’d known you were sitting over there thinking such things, I’d have encouraged you to leave the party earlier.”

“Fuck, you really want this.” Arthur stepped close and kissed him, mouth hot and slick and messy, tasting of whiskey. Eames wondered if his piss tasted of it and groaned before he could stop himself.

Arthur bit Eames’ lower lip as he pulled back. “Eames,” he said, “if you don’t get out of those clothes immediately, I will soak them.”

Eames swallowed. “Do it.”

Arthur stared, and waited a beat. “On your knees,” he ordered, and Eames dropped, neatly. “Take my dick out.” Eames did, and now his fingers really were shaking.

He really should have felt ridiculous, he thought, as Arthur covered his hand with his own, pointing his half-hard cock squarely at Eames’ chest. Arthur was flushed, his breathing a bit ragged, and Eames didn’t feel ridiculous in the slightest, kneeling before him.

Looking down at him, Arthur made a sound in his throat, and closed his eyes for a moment, nostrils flaring as he tilted his head back slightly. His gaze lost focus as he stared at the ceiling. Eames was looking so intently at how Arthur’s lips were slowly parting that he gasped in surprise at the feel of warm liquid suddenly soaking his shirt.

“Arthur,” he breathed in disbelief. Arthur’s chest was heaving, a low groan sliding from his throat as the flow intensified. Hot from Arthur’s body, it stuck Eames’ shirt to his chest, pooled in the folds of his trousers over his groin, dripped on the floor. Eames felt poleaxed, lightheaded with desire.

“Fuck, I can’t stop,” Arthur breathed, and swallowed a whimper; Eames leaned in, Arthur’s stream hitting his lapels and collarbones, and Arthur finally looked down at him just in time to watch him open his mouth.

“Fuck,” Arthur said again, ending in what sounded like a sob, face twisting and shoulders slumping as if in pain, and Eames’ heart was hammering wildly as he swallowed. He rubbed the heel of his hand against himself, hard, trousers wet with Arthur’s piss, faintly dizzy, eyes closing as he lost himself to the friction. The flow slowed to a trickle, then to drops, and Eames leaned forward to take Arthur fully in his mouth, feeling him harden almost instantly, his hands going to Eames’ hair in distracted caresses.

Eames hummed around him, tasting him, hands cupping his hips; he was restless, shifting. Eames worked him over, and he came with uncharacteristic speed, an _Ah_ breaking from his throat. Eames swallowed, greedy for more of him.

As soon as he was able, Arthur dropped to the floor to work a hand into the flies of Eames’ damp trousers and finish the job Eames’ hand had started. That didn’t take long either. The trousers were well and truly done for. Housekeeping were sure of a lavish tip.

Arthur shifted back as he released Eames, gaze searching yet shuttered, wary and cautious, mouth a line, as if he were steeling himself for a beratement, preparing to apologize for going too far. His face was pink, ears red with embarrassment.

Eames just smiled broadly at him, beatific and smelling faintly of piss, of Arthur.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/), [Amy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asunder), Liz, and Julia for all your help!


End file.
